


good day in my mind (safe to take a step out)

by soulcalibur



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: (i swear it's not bad tho + turns out good), (if u squint really really hard), (if u squint), Blow Jobs, Forced coming out, Hand Jobs, M/M, Minor Dylan Strome/Alex Debrincat, Minor Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews, a lot of handwaiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 22:08:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30028584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulcalibur/pseuds/soulcalibur
Summary: let's call it "5 times kirby tried inviting his neighbour into his apartment + the 1 time adam actually made it in"
Relationships: Adam Boqvist/Kirby Dach
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	good day in my mind (safe to take a step out)

**Author's Note:**

> hi i love this pair so much & i had to put my heart into something before i combusted so here this is!
> 
> if this seems self-indulgent, it's because it is :-)
> 
> disclaimer: this is all a work of fiction lol i don't know any of these people !!!! 
> 
> see the endnotes for where i waved my wretched hand + a note abt the "forced coming out tag" (spoilers)
> 
> enjoy !!

1.

Kirby didn't know how he felt about the condo.

It was nice, in his mom's opinion. Lots of counter space in the kitchen, a nice outside terrace, and floor-to-ceiling glass windows that showed off the Chicago view that South Michigan Avenue had to offer. It was nearly three-thousand square feet, fully furnished, with three bedrooms and four bathrooms. It was expensive (in Kirby's humble, professional-hockey-playing opinion), and he was pretty sure this condo was bigger than his childhood home, but his mom loved it and so it had to happen, obviously. It seemed that there were very few things Kirby could deny his mother, especially went she got all glossy-eyed and weepy about it.

So. Here Kirby was a week later after signing the lease to a place too big for just him, carrying four bags of groceries in both hands, struggling in front of his door in an attempt to snatch his keys from his pocket without relinquishing his hold on any of his groceries. It would be too easy to accept defeat, now, unwilling to admit to himself that he probably should have let his mom sign him up for an automatic grocery service.

"Million dollar condo," Kirby huffed under his breath, biting the inside of his cheek as he hauled his grocery bags up to his elbow, trying to free up his hands. "And I still need a key to unlock the door."

For a million dollars, Kirby would have preferred a fuckin' facial recognition scan instead of a set of keys, but he guessed that they weren't there yet as a society. Fine. The plastic handles of his grocery bags were starting to strain under their weight, and if Kirby didn't move fast, then his groceries were going to end up splayed across the expensive carpet of his condo corridor.

"Hey."

The sound of a sudden voice behind him startled Kirby bad enough to send his elbow flying into his doorframe in a jerk movement, wincing at the pain that shot up and down the length of his arm.

"Ow, _ow_ —"

"Oh, _shoot_ , I'm sorry, I—"

"No, uh, it's— _oh_."

Kirby turned to find whoever had suddenly appeared in his corridor, coming face-to-face with the most attractive person he'd seen since coming to Chicago. And, _hello_ , he had Jonathan Toews captaining his hockey team.

This person was blonde, shorter than Kirby by two or three inches, but thicker, more broad in the shoulders with wide blue eyes and a soft mouth. He was dressed nicely, the type of expensive that Kirby only ever saw when he visited Toronto; he was aware that he was staring, but he was also being stared at, so he could assume that any discomfort could go both ways, really.

"Sorry," the blonde apologized again in the moment of sudden silence, shouldering the backpack he was carrying. There was a strange twinge to his tone, an accent that Kirby couldn't really place. "I was just going to ask if you needed any help?"

And—honestly, yeah, Kirby could probably use some help, here. Weighing his options, he could either refuse the help and continue to make a fool of himself in front of this super hot stranger, or he could admit his defeat.

"If you don't mind," Kirby said after a small moment, a bit bashful and praying that he wasn't mumbling. Thankfully, the dude seemed to translate the resigned look on his face, shooting him a sweet grin as he crossed the hall to pluck the bags out of Kirby's hand. "Thanks, man. I'm Kirby."

"Adam," he introduced, readjusting his grip as Kirby dug through his pockets for his keys. "I live in the one across from you; saw you moving in last week, and I meant to introduce myself earlier."

Kirby made a happy noise as he pulled his keys out, giving Adam a triumphant smile and a shrug of his shoulder. "No time better than the present," he said, unlocking his door and slipping the keys back into his pocket. "I'm Kirby. I was gonna introduce myself to my neighbours at some point, but I barely even have furniture yet, so."

Thankfully, Adam laughed at that, almost like he was surprised he found it funny, and it made Kirby flush, made him want to keep talking just to draw more of that sound out of him. He was still holding onto Kirby's groceries, which— _shoot_ —contained two pints of Mint Chocolate Chip Halo.

Was it too early to invite his hot neighbour in for some ice cream? "Hey, if you're—"

Before Kirby could even get the words out, the door across the hall—Adam's door, actually—swung open, revealing (another) attractive, stocky short dude with dark hair and light eyes and a good scruff going on. He was also shirtless, and kinda ripped, and Kirby wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. Of _course_ his hot neighbour would have a boyfriend.

"Kitty," Adam said, his tone sticky-sweet with what sounded like faux politeness, and who on earth named their child Kitty?

"Adam—oh." Kirby didn't like the way he was currently being stared at; like he was being taken apart and dissected under a telescope, ripped open to read the entrails. "You're Kirby."

Kirby blinked, feeling spooked for a solid two and a half seconds before he remembered that he was in Chicago, and he played for the Chicago Blackhawks. People were going to start noticing him, sooner or later.

"Big fan," the dude said, reaching out with a hand that Kirby was definitely meant to shake, which he thankfully managed without any trouble. "I'm Alex, Adam's roommate."

Alex (not Kitty, thankfully) seemed nice enough; a lot nicer, in Kirby's opinion, after he introduced himself as Adam's roommate instead of as his boyfriend. Having neighbours that were fans wasn't entirely ideal, especially if Kirby was looking for a lay, but they seemed cool enough.

"Sick, dude," Kirby said, side-eyeing Adam, who was looking at Alex with a blank sort of expressionless stare. He still had a tight grip on Kirby's thinly strained grocery bags. "I should probably get these inside before shit starts melting. I'll see you guys around?"

They both nodded, and if Kirby spent an extra second admiring Adam's hasty smile as he passed over his groceries, then that was between him and God. And Alex, apparently, who sent Kirby a look with two raised eyebrows and a smirking, impish grin. Kirby wasn't sure what to make of that.

"See you around," Adam confirmed, lingering for just a moment before following Alex back into their condo, leaving Kirby and his melting ice cream alone in the hallway. The second the door closed behind them, the handles of his grocery bags strained and snapped under the tension, his groceries spilling out onto the carpet.

He paused, thinking about Adam's pretty smile as his ice cream melted at his feet. Next time, he decided. Next time, he would invite Adam in.

2.

The next time they meet, Kirby's cheeks are pink from the cold and his hair is still damp from the shower he took at the rink.

Evening practice was as physically demanding as it always was, leaving his knees feeling like jelly and his arms like pool noodles, rendering him useless and completely at the mercy of his condo's elevator, after climbing out of Seabs' car. Stairs were a hellish option at this point, and Kirby had enough self-love to steer clear of those. His fridge was blissfully empty, no food to heat up and no ingredients to piece together, but he did just download DoorDash, and he did have _at least_ forty dollars to spare, so. Yeah.

He was walking down his hallway while scrolling through his phone, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he flicked through his options, debating whether or not he wanted sushi or Thai. Another shower is in order for him, first, hot water and seclusion and soap that smells like his own; then, he can make his decision, sitting alone in the condo full of furniture that he'd made his mom pick out for him.

"Hi, Kirby."

At first, it seemed as though the voice was coming from literally nowhere. Kirby's first instinct was to check behind him, and then when seeing nobody there, check downwards. Where, alas, Adam was sitting against the wall outside his apartment, hugging his knees to his chest with a white takeout bag next to him.

"Hey, man," Kirby said, hoping he sounded smooth despite the initial startle. "What, uh. What are you doing down there?"

Adam smiled, looking a little bashful with his pink cheeks and sheepish smile. He was dressed as relaxed as Kirby's ever seen him, in a black hoodie and grey joggers, a backwards cap on his head. His sneakers were white against the dark carpet, ankles crossed. The sleeve of his hoodie had drifted up, and Kirby's mouth went dry as he saw the dark ink of tattoos against pale skin.

"Ah," Adam laughed, looking a little bit embarrassed as he shrugged. "I went to go pick up dinner for me and Alex before he got back from work, but I forgot my keys inside."

Kirby could empathize, here. The self-locking doors were both a blessing and a curse for the forgetful.

"Happens to the best of us," Kirby said, giving him a little grin. "How much longer do you gotta wait until Alex gets home?"

Adam's flush only deepened. "He, um. He's working a double at his placement tonight, so. A few more hours, I think."

Kirby's face flickered in surprise, feeling nervous excitement bubble up in his chest, like someone shook a bottle of orange soda and lodged it right to his heart. "You should come in," he was offering before he even took the time to think about it. "I have a fridge that you can keep that in, and a couch to sit on until he gets back. Y'know, if you want."

Since first meeting, Kirby and Adam hadn't had a conversation longer than two minutes, until now. Kirby was a professional hockey player, and Adam was an architecture student at Roosevelt, both with very busy lives and barely any expendable free time. But Kirby had thought about the boy next door a lot, as cliche as it was, and this seemed to be the universe handing him an opportunity on a silver platter.

Thankfully, Adam's face broke out into a smile, and the second Kirby got a nod of affirmation, he was holding out an offering hand, going giddy when Adam's warm hand clasped his without hesitation.

"I also have an Xbox," Kirby said after hoisting Adam up, the takeout bag coming up with him. They were standing rather close, now, close enough that Kirby could smell whatever body wash Adam had used that morning. "And a Netflix account, if that gets you going."

Adam's face brightened. "Have you ever seen the show _New Girl_?"

While Adam chittered behind Kirby about the shows he was currently watching, Kirby was patting at his pockets, trying to hear for the jingle of his keys. He paused, just for a moment, when he realized that his pockets were flat, except for the obviousness of his wallet and his phone. There was no jingle, and there was no other bumps in his pocket, and _oh no._

"It's really funny, and I've only seen the first two episodes, but—" Adam seemed to have realized that Kirby had stopped searching, and was sort of absent-mindedly patting at his pockets now. "Are you okay?"

"I think," Kirby began, slipping his phone out of his pocket, thumbing it open and dialling Seabs' number, feeling like the biggest idiot on the planet. "I may or may not have left my keys in my teammate's car."

It was humiliating, sure, but the way Adam burst out into a happy, tinkling laughter made it a little more palatable, and Kirby found himself grinning along as he held his phone up to his ear; there was no way that Seabs wasn't gonna chirp him for this, and possibly call Duncs immediately after to share the news.

"Hey-o, Kirb-o," Seabs greeted, the tinniness of his voice meaning that he was still in his car, despite the fact that it's been a solid fifteen minutes since he'd dropped Kirby off. "What's up, kid?"

Kirby pursed his lips. "Seabsie," he greeted in return, crossing his fingers as Adam watched him with a smile, little giggles still bubbling up. "I, uh. How far away from my place are you?"

"Halfway across town, bud," Seabs answered easily, and Kirby fought the urge to whine and thunk his head against the wall. "The girls have a dance recital tonight, and I'm meeting Dayna there."

"Fuck." There was a beat of silence on the other end, and Kirby could practically see the confused furrow of Seabs' brow. "Wanna check your cupholder and see if I left my keys in there?"

There was another moment of silence, and then, as though it were taunting Kirby, the jingle of some car keys on the other line, followed by a heavy sigh from Seabs. The dad sigh, if you will.

"Kirby Dach," Seabs said, all deadly serious and stern. "My young fucking daughters are about to get on stage and dance their little hearts out to _The_ _Nutcracker_. And you have the _gall_ to leave your fuckin' house keys in my car, and only realize now."

Kirby winced. "Not _The Nutcracker._ "

"Yes, _The Nutcracker_ ," Seabs plowed on, and Kirby sent Adam a desperate look, further into this conversation than he planned. "They've been practicing for months, Kirby. I can't miss it. Or they'll kill me, I think."

Kirby was very familiar with the Seabrook girls, two adorable little ladies with their father's face and their mother's wrath. They would kill him without hesitation if he missed this dance recital. Adam had retaken his seat on the ground in front of his apartment, and was looking up at Kirby in wait.

"Listen," Seabs continued, sounding resigned. "The girls are the first ones up. Once they're done, I'm handing them their roses, taking some pictures, and hightailing it the fuck out of here. It'll be an hour, max. Then, I'll drop off your fucking house keys."

"Thank you, Biscuit," Kirby said quietly, flushing a little as Adam quirked a brow at him. "Tell the girls I said good luck. And take lotsa pictures for me, yeah?"

"Sure thing, Kirbs," Seabs said, sounding a lot more jolly than he was two minutes ago, probably thankful that Kirby hadn't decided to throw a fit. "If you ever leave your keys in my car again, I'm chucking them out the window."

He hung up, then, and Adam patted the ground next to him with a teasing grin, drawing his knees to his chest as Kirby, with a moment of admitted reluctance, took a seat down next to him. There was a respectable distance between them, and Kirby let his legs stretch out, too sore to keep them scrunched up like Adam was.

"Well," Adam said after a moment, grabbing the takeout bag and planting it between them. "I hope you like Greek food, because that's what we're having for dinner tonight."

Kirby lifted a brow, ready to decline when his stomach rumbled. "Alex won't mind?"

Adam shrugged, shifting his position so that he was sitting cross-legged, facing Kirby. "What Alex doesn't know won't hurt him," he said smugly, reaching into the white take-out bag and handing Kirby a styrofoam box. "Besides, last time he had to stay overtime at the lab, he was there until midnight, so."

From what Alex had told him, he was a bio-med student, doing his paid placement at one of the student labs at Northwestern Memorial. He and Adam had met in one of their elective classes first year, and moved in together almost immediately. And now, they found themselves here.

"My dad bought this place, first," Adam explains, spearing a chunk of grilled chicken dipped in tzatziki and waving it in the direction of his condo. "My parents were supposed to live in it, but they decided to stay in Sweden. I got accepted into school before they could sell it, so it all worked out, really."

Kirby nodded along, munching on his own dinner and ignoring the sound of his nutritionists voice in his head. When there was a break in conversation, Kirby offered his own story, even though this information was widely available on the internet.

"My sister is allergic to blue Gatorade," Kirby said, his ass numb after an hour of sitting on the floor, the remnants of his dinner still in his lap. "Found that out the hard way, once she started playing. Broke out into hives on the bench, and everything."

Adam finished stuffing the rest of their garbage back into the takeout bag, looking a little sleepy but attentive as he leaned back against the wall. "Your siblings play hockey too?"

Kirby hummed, unable to help the smile as he turned on his phone and handed it over to Adam, showing the lock-screen of him and his siblings on the frozen-over pond they had back home. The smile that spread over Adam's face was contagious, and Kirby bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning too widely as Adam tapped his thumb against the picture of Kirby on the screen.

"Well, I'll keep an eye out for them," Adam said, lifting his hoodie up to his ears and snuggling in. He gave Kirby a little smirk. "If they're as half as good as their brother, they'll make it to the NHL in no time."

And, man, Kirby couldn't help the way he went warm if he tried, drawing his own knees up and tucking his chin in close. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe chirp at Adam or boast more about his siblings, when Adam's eyes lit up.

"Hey!" He said suddenly, and Kirby watched as he dug his hand into his back pocket, pulling out his phone. "I just remembered that I have Netflix on my phone."

Something warm and wiggly was blooming in Kirby's chest, breath catching as Adam babbled excitedly at him, looking for the show he'd wanted to watch before.

"Here, if we—" Kirby arranged the takeout bag, holding his hand out for Adam's phone and propping it against the boxes like a makeshift holder, the phone in perfect view for the both of them. "There."

"Perfect," Adam agreed, slouching down against the wall, Kirby following suit. "If I fall asleep, wake me up before Alex gets here, yeah? He'll be mean if he gets to me first."

Kirby smiled, nudging Adam's arm with his own, their eyes meeting in a private, overwhelming glance. "I got you, buddy."

Next time, Kirby thought, slouching in a little closer to Adam, his head dangerously close to his shoulder as the show started on Adam's phone. Next time, they'll make it inside.

3.

The New Jersey Devils were playing like it was game seven of the Stanley Cups finals, and Kirby kind of wanted to go home.

They were down by one in the dying minutes of the third, the boys on the bench breathing heavy and tense, waiting in anxious anticipation to hike a leg up and over the boards when it was their time. Kirby's lungs rattled with gasping breaths, sweat dripping down the back of his neck, thigh aching with blocking Subban's shot from way too close. Beside him, Kaner had his head hanging forwards, winded and frustrated from being double-shifted and having nothing to show for it.

Jonny was at his wit's end, shouting up and down the bench, trying to motivate a team that didn't look like it had any gas left in the tank. Seabs and Duncs were in mirrored positions, hands on their knees, looking a little hungry in the eyes while they watched their teammates on the ice take hit after hit.

"Hall's getting his shit rocked next shift, the fucker," Kirby heard Seabs spit from a few people down, Duncs' stick slamming twice against the boards in agreement. "Take on someone his own size."

Kirby's breath was still coming fast, and beside him, Dylan patted his knee, a comforting little tap of affection in this hectic game. He closed his eyes and imagined the soak he would have in his ridiculously big bathtub at home, and when one of the trainers held up a cracked packet of ammonia, Kirby tipped his head back and inhaled deep. Within that same second of overwhelming adrenaline, he and Kaner hiked a leg over the boards in unison and hit the ice.

It took thirteen seconds into the shift for Kirby to score from what felt like an impossible angle, picking the puck up off a rebound from Kaner's shot, slapping at the ice with the blade of his stick and watching as, miraculously, the puck made it past Blackwood's pad, the goalie spread eagle and low in his crease.

Overtime was just as bed as the first three periods, Kirby's belly hitting the ice in front of Crow after a nasty turnover to Sharangovich, puck hitting his hip with a sharp twinge, and _fuck_ he was gonna have to see a medic about that later.

Five minutes were up with barely any shots on net from either team, both too busy slamming each other into boards and getting away with sneaky penalties. Then it was the shootout, and Kirby was half-listening to Colliton's conversation with Jonny, Kaner, and Dylan.

"We have the better shooters," is what he heard, and then immediately thought of Hughes, Palmieri, Gusev, Hall. He winced. "Take 'em in three, boys, c'mon."

They did not, in fact, take them in three, and Kirby watched from the bench as the three most talented shooters on their team took shot after shot, puck hitting the back of the net the same number of times Crow let one through. They were evenly matched, wandering into the fourth round with two misses from each team, and then Colliton was clapping a hand over Kirby's shoulder and mother _fucker_ , he was up next.

It probably wasn't his smartest move to glance up at the big screen, especially since the cameras chose at that moment to land on two seats right up against the glass, showing an all-too-familiar blonde dude sitting next to an equally familiar brunette. Kirby almost tumbled over the boards on his way out, because that was _Adam_ , all blonde-haired and pink-cheeked, and he was wearing a _Devils_ ' _jersey_ , and what the _fuck?_ Alex, at least, had the decency to put on a Hawks jersey, and Kirby mentally took note of the seventeen on the arm.

"Dach, you ready to go?" Nagy shouts at centre ice, puck in hand.

_No, no, what the fuck, no_. "Yup," he called back, feeling Kaner's mitt pushing against his ass and getting him over the boards, his legs feeling like jelly as he skated out to the centre, stick loose in his hand. He made a very pointed decision to not scan the crowd around him, knowing that if he saw Adam again it would hit him like a punch to the gut. "Ready."

He waited for the whistle before taking off, heart thundering in his chest, the game on his stick, Adam on his mind, and the puck—the puck in the net, top shelf, slipping over Blackwood's shoulder like it was made of glass, and _thank god, holy fuck._

Kirby willed himself to keep his eyes on his bench as he accepted the fist-bumps from his teammates, hopping in on the end and plopping down between Jonny and Lehner, accepting the arm Jonny wrapped around his neck and going into the sweaty hug as he was pulled into his captain's side.

"Beautiful fucking goal, baby," Jonny praised, giving him a squeeze and holding him closer, head ducking so he could talk quieter and still be heard. "So why does it look like you've just seen a fucking ghost?"

Kirby tensed up, and Jonny let him go, looking down at him with two raised eyebrows. And it was on the tip of Kirby's tongue, some stupid humble lie about not expecting to make the shot, and then Jack Hughes was taking the ice and Kirby couldn't miss this.

Jack could, though, stumbling at the end of his shot and sending the puck into Crow's pad, and Kirby was saved by the goal horn and the cheering crowd, flinging himself over the boards and skating right into Crow, squished between teammates and saved from Jonny's questioning and all-knowing gaze.

It was his turn for post-game media, and he was still red in the face and catching his breath as he stuttered his way through monotone answers that he's heard Jonny give a million times, hip aching as he accepted the congratulations on his first career shootout goal with a sideways smile and sweat-damp hair.

And then he turned down the tunnel and into the hallways leading to the locker rooms and came face-to-face with Adam. Alex was there too, but all Kirby could focus on was Adam's shy smile and the New Jersey Devils jersey he was wearing, blonde hair curling nicely around his ears. They both had Special Persons passes hanging from the necks, and Alex looked like someone who was trying to hide how excited they were.

"Hi," Adam started, pushing away from the wall he was leaning against, getting closer to Kirby like one would a frightened, wild animal; slow and tentative. "You played really well, Kirby. Congratulations."

Kirby felt himself shrug, lifting his hand to tug at the strap on his helmet. "Sorry about your team, bud."

And if it sounded a little snippy, well, then, sue him.

The grin that curled around Adam's mouth was unexpected, his fingers curling into the sleeves of his too-long jersey. "It's more my brother's team than my own, actually."

Kirby's eyes flashed to the number on the arm, racking his brain for number ninety on the Devils and drawing a blank. And then he remembered: _Boqvist_. But—

"Your brother plays in the NHL?"

Adam gave him a nod, eyes flitting from Kirby's eyes to his skates and back again, not being shy in the slightest. "And I'm an architect," he said cheekily, and Kirby couldn't help the startled laugh that escaped him. "Listen, I—"

"Kirbs!" The shout of his name cut Adam off, all three of their heads turning to see Seabs, sweaty and big and half-naked, upper half hanging off the open locker room door. "C'mon, young buck. Celebratory drinks! Bring your boys."

And then he was gone, back into the ruckus of the winning team's locker room, and Kirby was turning back to Adam with the words already flying out of his mouth.

"You should come," he said, eyes flitting to Alex, who was looking a little overwhelmed. "Both of you, I mean, or we can go back to my place if you—"

"Um, _yes_ —" Alex started, soon cut off by Adam.

"I would love to," Adam said, emphatically, elbow digging into Alex's side. There was something like dismay on his face. " _We_ would love to, but we can't."

It was like Kirby could feel himself deflating, the aches and pains of the game finally catching up with him. "Oh," he started, blinking a few times and trying to bring the life back into his face. "No, that's—yeah, that's—"

"It's not," Adam cut him off, hands reaching out to grasp at the sleeve of Kirby's jersey. "I just—my brother isn't in town much, and I barely get to see him, and he's taking us out to dinner before he flies out tomorrow, and—"

" _Oh_ ," Kirby started, face flaming with speckles of embarrassment as Alex snorted, looking skyward like he couldn't believe what was happening in front of him.

"I can't believe I get to watch this for free," Alex said, dry but giggly, stuffing his hands into his front pockets. "You nerds."

"But," Adam began again, resolutely ignoring Alex's presence. "Um, if you're free for coffee tomorrow, I could definitely do that. If you'd like."

It took a minute for what Adam was asking to catch up in Kirby's brain, eyes blinking wide, lips parted. He must have looked dumb, but he wondered how it compared to Adam's caught-in-the-headlights look that he had going on, there.

"I have practice tomorrow morning," Kirby found himself saying, his voice sounding far away, even to him. He cleared his throat. "But, uh, I could do lunch, if you're down?"

"Yes," Adam said, maybe a little too quickly if Alex's small noise of surprise was anything to go by. "Yes, I'm down."

"Perfect." Kirby couldn't help his grin, sudden and elated and feeling a hundred times better than tying up the game and making his first shootout goal. "I'll, uh, stop by after practice, at like, three? And, um. You can pick the place, if you want."

Adam only managed a nod before Seabs was sticking his head out the locker room again and shouting much less polite things at him, making Adam's eyes widen and Alex laugh hard.

"Hey," Kirby said, turning to Alex. "If you guys stick around a minute, I could send out my buddy Dylan to get that jersey signed for you, if you want."

And it was Adam's turn to laugh, and Alex's turn to go pink, a flush crawling up his neck and matching the fabric of the red Blackhawks jersey he was wearing. He nodded, quiet as a mouse.

Kirby turned to Adam, face already giving way to a soft smile as Adam's fingers curled around his wrist. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

4.

What was supposed to be a late lunch turned out to be an early dinner, thanks to their power-play sucking pure ass and Colliton deciding to bag-skate them for it.

Kirby was not above asking Seabs to break the laws of the road to get him home quicker, and while Seabs was clutch for most things, the one he would not budge on was running a red light on an empty street.

"You are a _millionaire_ ," Kirby groaned as the clocked ticked just past five. "You can afford a few red-light tickets, Biscuit, c'mon."

Seabs gave him the side-eye. "I'm not risking my life just so you can get your dick wet, young Padawan," he scoffed, and Kirby squawked. "Sit back, take a deep breath. Getting home safely won't kill you."

Kirby pursed his lips and leaned back in the passenger's seat, wishing he had the brains to ask for Adam's number before disappearing yesterday to sit squished in between Jonny and Seabs in a packed bar, bright pink band around his wrist and water cup in hand.

Seabs had barely pulled into Kirby's parking garage before he was tugging on his seatbelt and wriggling out of the car, nearly tumping Seabs in the back of the head with his duffle bag as he snatched it out the backseat.

"Thanks for the ride, Biscuit," Kirby managed to squeeze in, seeing the roll of Seabs' eyes before he slammed the door shut, double-checking for his keys in his pocket.

The elevator was always slower when Kirby was in a rush, and he was left twitching and checking his phone with no expectations as he climbed floors until he reached his own, worming between the doors before they even fully opened. He unlocked his door with fumbling fingers, tossing his duffle onto his couch and sprinting into his bathroom. He managed to brush his teeth and change into a pair of black jeans and a nicer-looking sweater, his hair drying to a soft frizz. There was a small internal debate on whether or not he should shove a hat over the mess, but then that launched another debate over _which hat,_ so he took his loss, grabbed his keys, and walked the three steps it took to cross the hall.

It was Alex who opened the door, about two minutes after Kirby knocked. His eyes were narrowed. "Hm," is what he said, and Kirby fought the urge to wince. "Do you usually have lunch at—" he paused to check his wrist, which was void of any watch. "—six in the evening, Kirby Dach?"

The last thing that Kirby wanted to do was feel intimidated by someone who was sometimes referred to as _Kitty_ , but alas. Here he was; intimidated.

"We got bag-skated because we don't know how to score on a power-play," Kirby explained, clearing his throat and rocking back on his heels, teeth sinking into a tender spot on his bottom lip. "I would have texted, but I didn't grab Adam's number yesterday. I'm not that asshole, I swear."

Really, he wasn't sure why he was over-explaining to Alex, of all people, but he was kinda glad that he was. Alex was clearly playing the overprotective brother part, and Kirby couldn't blame him. So when something in Alex's face softened, Kirby could feel the tension slowly leaving his body.

"Gimme a sec," Alex said, and closed the door in Kirby's face, leaving him to stare at the dark wood and hope that he didn't somehow screw this up for himself. If Adam decided that he wasn't interested, then Kirby would walk back into his condo, lick his wounds, and throttle everyone on the power-play unit.

It took three minutes of Kirby standing outside for the door to open again, revealing a flushed-looking, surprised Adam behind it.

"I didn't forget," Kirby blurted out before Adam could say anything, the back of his neck going hot at the little smile he got in return. "I couldn't forget, even if I tried. It's just—we're not—"

"Producing on the power-play," Adam finished for him, cheeky grin and all. "So I've noticed. You need to get Kane out of the bumper—not much is going on, there."

Kirby shrugged. "Tell that to Colliton," he said lightly, meeting Adam's eyes and holding his gaze. "Y'know, it's a little late for lunch. Wanna go to dinner, instead?"

Adam's grin softened, his hip bumping against his doorframe as he met Kirby's eyes through his lashes, looking so fuckin' suggestive and coy that Kirby felt himself go pink in the face.

"I'm good for dinner," Adam confirmed, reaching into his apartment and pulling out a jean jacket, even though it was definitely freezing outside. "I know the perfect place."

"You should probably grab a jacket," Kirby said, a little mumbly as he unconsciously reached out and adjusted Adam's collar. "It's a little chilly outside."

Adam paused, halfway bent at the waist to grab his shoes from inside. It took him only a second to snap out of it, slipping on a pair of white sneakers and adjusting the snapback on his head before nudging Kirby with his elbow.

"I'll be fine," he said lightly, straightening up. "You should grab one, though. If you want."

And hey, that wasn't entirely a bad idea, and Kirby crossed the hall with a shrug. Adam waited outside while Kirby reached in and felt around for the puffy black jacket he wore this morning, pausing for a moment of consideration before grabbing the Blackhawks cap and tucking it snugly on his head. When the door was locked behind him, Kirby turned back to Adam and was overcome with the sudden urge to hold his hand. He refrained, but only barely. He wondered when his restraint would fracture.

"Nice," Adam said, all approving and sincere as he watched Kirby shrug into his jacket, nodding his head towards the elevators. "We should go. It's open through the night, but it's much prettier to walk there during sunset."

It was, in fact, freezing cold the second they stepped out of their building, but Adam looked virtually unaffected, sticking his hands into the pockets of his jacket and leading the way. Any hopes that he would reach out and take Kirby's hand were lost, so Kirby took his lead.

"Me and Alex used to come here a lot when we first started school," Adam said after a moment, inching closer to Kirby as his breath came out in visible puffs. "Neither of us knew our way around the city yet, but we couldn't sit inside anymore, so we just started walking."

Chicago was always beautiful, but Kirby thought she was especially beautiful now, with the sun turning bright orange and pink behind the skyscrapers and towers and old-modern architecture. With Adam beside him, walking so close to him and looking at the city around him like it was his first time walking through these streets.

"It's beautiful," Kirby said, even though he was done looking at the sky, his eyes focused on the curve of Adam's jaw and tendon in his neck as he turned his head to look over at him.

"Yeah," Adam said, so quietly that Kirby wouldn't have heard him if he wasn't walking so close. "It is, really. Don't even have to look too close to see."

Kirby didn't realize they were stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at each other like two aliens who just reached earth from mars, until someone jostled into Kirby from behind to get past and Adam was grabbing the hem of his jacket and tugging him in close.

"The people, now," Adam said, a little laugh in his voice as he looked up at Kirby, nose scrunching comically. "Much more polite in Sweden, if you ask me."

"You'd like Canada," Kirby said, a little bit breathless for no reason as Adam dropped his hand and kept walking, following after him like there was no other choice to choose. "Lots of polite people, just as cold."

Adam snorted at that, and it felt nice to see, sending Kirby into his own giggles as they turned a corner again, stopping almost abruptly.

"Here," Adam said, grabbing the door of a small diner tucked into the wall crowded with storefronts, the lights bright and the interior warm. He swung it open, and ushered Kirby in first with a nod of his head, brushing off his thanks with a shake of his head. "Welcome, Kirby Dach, to the home of the world's best milkshakes."

Kirby wasn't allowed to have milkshakes, under a law-abiding contract, and he had a feeling that Adam knew that and didn't care. It was a good thing Kirby didn't care, either, especially when he felt a hand spread across the small of his back, leading him directly to a booth at the back of the diner.

It had red leather seats that were peeling in some places, and a linoleum table-top that rattled when they sat down, rickety and perfect all at once. The store around them was mostly empty, but Kirby still appreciated the privacy that their table gave them, especially when they slid into their respective sides, and Adam immediately hooked their ankles together.

It made Kirby's face go warm, the familiarity between them feeling much further than it probably should have, for a first date. Was this a first date? Was this a _date_? They were in a dingy little diner that clearly held a lot of sentimental value for Adam, and they were dressed in jeans and sweaters and Kirby was like, six hours late, here, and if this was a first date, he was pretty sure he owed Adam an apology.

He turned his hat so the brim was behind him, opening his face up to Adam, who had his eyes on him ever since they sat down. "I like it here," Kirby said after the small bout of comfortable silence, capturing Adam's ankle between both of his and giving it a little squeeze. His eyes were focused on Adam's hands resting on the table in front of him, his own fingers tangled together, nails trimmed and clean, a blue and yellow braided bracelet on his wrist, bright against the black inkiness of his tattoos. He wondered what would happen if he reached a hand out and laced their fingers together, or if he dragged a finger against the outside of his wrist, tracing the pictures there.

"It's ... different," Kirby settled on, meeting Adam's expectant eyes. "I don't think I've ever been in a diner like this, before. Not even back home."

"It's no five-star-Michelin, but," Adam shrugged with a little smile, grabbing a double-sided menu and plopping it between them, beckoning Kirby closer with a flick of his wrist. "It's comfortable. Safe, even."

Kirby leaned in, head tipping to peer at the upside-down menu. "I like it," he repeated, voice going softer than it should've when he felt Adam's eyes flick up, his own trained on the gibberish menu. "A lot, actually."

The paint was peeling off the walls, and Kirby had never been in a place like this before, but it was new and exciting and he suddenly wanted to come back again tomorrow.

"What's your milkshake flavour of choice?" Adam hummed, the tip of his pointer finger drawing up and down the list. "Choose wisely, because we're sharing."

And, _oh_ , there was no way this wasn't a date, now, and Kirby needed to bite down hard on his bottom lip to keep from grinning too wide, a little smile slipping on the corner of his mouth despite his best efforts. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking about it for a minute before leaning back against the booth, folding his hands on his lap.

"Vanilla," is what he said, not missing the grin that flashed across Adam's face before he tamped it down. "If that's okay with you."

Adam shrugged, his eyes twinkling teasingly. "It'll do."

The waitress came by, then, and Adam ordered their large vanilla milkshake and a plate of burgers and fries for each of them, stumbling over his words a bit when he looked over at Kirby and caught him looking back with wide, blinking eyes, waiting expectantly for Adam to order for the both of them.

"Thank you," Kirby said, his voice going quiet again. Adam's eyes were a little darker than before, eyelids slipping lower as he looked across the table. "I didn't get a chance to look, so."

His eyes flicked down at the same moment Adam licked across his bottom lip, and Kirby felt something in his stomach go hot at the action. He thought, not for the first time, what it would feel like to kiss Adam, and wondered what was stopping him from doing it now.

It was the squeeze of Adam's ankles around Kirby's leg that brought him back to the present, looking from Adam's mouth to his eyes in the same second. His smile was sweet, not teasing, and Kirby felt the warm fizz in his stomach spread.

This time, he didn't let himself think too hard about it when he lifted a hand and hooked his pinkie finger through the woven bracelet on Adam's wrist. Didn't let himself think about warm skin on skin, didn't let himself think about Adam's devastatingly delighted smile in response.

Conversation picked up as their food arrived, Kirby's hand twitching away on instinct as the waitress got to their table. Adam stuttered through his words mid-sentence once Kirby pulled back, the corner of his mouth twitching into a frown as he pulled his own hands into his lap.

"Sorry," Adam said immediately, once the waitress was out of earshot, two steaming plates of food and a vanilla milkshake between them. "I forget, sometimes, that people in this city know you."

Kirby chewed on his lower lip. "I forget, too," he said, clearing his throat and not meeting Adam's eye as he pulled off the top bun on his burger, picking at the mushrooms sitting there. "Don't be sorry—I didn't mind it, I just. People don't know, about me. And I think I wanna keep it like that, for a little while."

"When you say that 'people' don't know about you," Adam began, trailing off and worrying at his bottom lip, unsure of how to finish his thought without answering his own question.

"I mean the people in the rafters who wear my jersey and cheer for my team," Kirby finished, staring at the limp mushrooms on his plate and feeling a twinge of irritation at himself. "But those are the people I'm keeping it from; my teammates, my coaches, they don't know. But I—I don't think I would mind if they did."

He thought of Patrick and Jonny, who never said anything outright and still left together after every game and practice in the same car they'd shown up in. Nobody minded, at least out loud.

Adam nodded, lips parting like he wanted to press for more, ask for details that he probably had a right to know, if Kirby was playing footsie with him and touching his hands. But he didn't, and instead leaned over to pluck the mushrooms off his plate, dropping them onto his own.

Kirby looked up. "I hate mushrooms," he said, a little bit sullen as he closed the top of his burger again. "Weird texture, weird taste."

Adam popped one by itself into his mouth, eyes fluttering as he chewed, making Kirby's tummy flutter while his nose scrunched up in distaste.

"Lucky for you," Adam said, grabbing the straws off the table and jabbing them against the flat top, freeing them of their paper restraints. "I love them, actually."

The rest of the night was spent tucked in that little booth in the corner, Kirby eating the food off his plate and the rest off of Adam's when he shoved it over after, eyes glittering in fond amusement. They talked about things that weren't so heavy on their chest, things that made them feel light and airy and compatible, interests aligning like jigsaw pieces.

Adam was strange, in essence. He had a different accent and he talked a lot with his hands, and his eyes could tell you an entire story with just one look. He was expressive and funny and cute, and Kirby wanted his number in his phone and his ass a regular presence on his couch.

Two hours ticked by in ten minutes, the vanilla milkshake making a rude noise when Adam slid it over for Kirby's sip, which also happened to be the last. He flushed pink around his apologetic smile, especially when Adam leaned back in the booth and looked at him the way he was currently, like Kirby was something fascinating to be inspected under a telescope.

"I can get us another one, if you want," Kirby said, but a look at the clock fixed on the wall behind Adam's head said that it was maybe getting too late for that. He licked his lips. "Or—Or, you could come over. I still have a comfortable couch and Netflix, if you're down."

Adam responded with a sideways grin, his hand waving politely at the waitress for the check.

"I'd like that, Kirby."

The cheque came, and Kirby was reaching for his wallet when Adam's card flashed between his fingers out of nowhere, and Kirby's hand was reaching out and closing loosely around his wrist before he knew what he was doing.

"Hey," was all he could say as Adam and the waitress looked at him, one with amusement and the other with pained tolerance. "No, I can—"

"Shh," Adam shushed, brushing Kirby's hand off his wrist and tapping his card against the machine, fingers pressing the tip amount into the buttons. "Relax. You'll get us next time."

Next time. Yeah, okay. Fine. Next time, Kirby would pay for dinner, and make sure to pick up recommendations from Kaner and Tazer for the most illustrious restaurant in Chicago, because fuck, what were they paying him all this money for if not to take out his cute neighbour to expensive restaurants?

"Okay," Kirby said, but his voice sounded breathy and punched out of his chest, Adam's coy smile going loose as he slid out of the booth. Kirby followed immediately.

It was warmer than it had been earlier when they stepped back out onto the streets, the sun fully set but the wind less harsh, and Kirby found himself not bothering to zip up his jacket, finding familiarity in the biting chill and shrugging it off.

But beside him, Adam was tucking his jean jacket closer around him, trembling slightly like the temperature was in the negatives. Then suddenly, Kirby was shrugging out of his jacket like this body didn't belong to him, handing it over to Adam silently and waiting for him to take it.

He just stared back. "It's _freezing_ , Kirby."

Kirby shrugged. "Not to me," he said easily, shaking his jacket at Adam a little more. "Canadian, and all that. C'mon, take it."

Normally, Kirby thought to himself as Adam reached out and hesitantly took the jacket. Normally, he would be irritated at the idea of giving up his jacket when he'd known it was gonna be cold, and especially when he'd told Adam to grab one before they left. But it was just warm fondness he felt as he watched Adam shrugged into Kirby's jacket, a little awkward as he fit it over the one he was already wearing, zipping it up to his chin and giving Kirby a big grin.

"It's my hands that get the coldest," Adam informed, holding his hands out in front of him, fingers wiggling a bit. "I have a pair of mittens that my grandma knit for me before I came here, but I'm fairly certain I left them in Sweden."

"Well." Kirby's own hands were warm, if a little clammy, and this time he didn't let himself hesitate as he reached out and took Adam's hand, trembling fingers slotting together, knuckles bumping as they interlocked. The sidewalk was empty, but Kirby felt on a different level; a level that didn't care about being seen. "My hands are always the warmest, conveniently."

It was Kirby's downfall, then, the way that Adam's face went pink, eyes widening a little in surprise as he let their hands drop between them, as Kirby's thumb brushed over the red skin over his knobby knuckles, smiles meeting.

"C'mon," Kirby said first, letting Adam squeeze his hand and tuck both of theirs into his (Kirby's?) pocket, pressing close to Kirby's side. "My apartment is a lot warmer, too."

And maybe that sounded insinuating, if the way Adam's grip tightened and the way he got a little quiet beside him was anything to go by, but Kirby couldn't even find it in himself to care. He was holding hands with a cute boy that just paid for his dinner, a boy that he thought about a lot, a boy that Kirby thought about _kissing_ a lot. He was allowed to have this.

"Any interesting road-trips coming up?" Adam asked casually on their way back to the condo, his hand warm in Kirby's now, and firmly planted.

"Mm, one coming up next week," Kirby said, shoulder bumping against Adam's as the walked. "It's a mum's trip, actually. Our moms get to fly out with us. It's pretty nice, actually."

Conversation was steady and comfortable as they made it into their building, hands still tucked together, their bodies pressed in close along their sides. Kirby talked about the places he's visited for hockey, and Adam told him about home, about the food and the sunshine and the way the sky looked endless from there, lacking all the pollution that America seemed to thrive off of.

In the elevator, Adam stayed close, leaning into Kirby with his chin bumping into his shoulder, his smile sweet and his eyes bright as they spoke, and endless chatter of anything that they could even think to talk about, even as they exited the elevator and made the walk down their corridor.

Adam was in the middle of telling him about the show they'd been watching that day when they'd both been locked out, telling him that they _needed_ to watch the next episode, when his words trailed off and his fingers began to unlacing their fingers hastily, tugging away and putting distance between them.

"What—" Kirby started, trailing off as well when he realized that Adam wasn't even looking at him, and was instead looking at the end of the wall. He followed his line of sight and startled.

"Oh."

"I texted," Kaner said, leaning against Kirby's door with a six-pack hooked over his fingers, looking a little caught in the lights. "But I'm starting to think that maybe I should have called?"

Kirby hadn't looked at his phone all night. Didn't feel the need to, with the main attraction sitting right in front of him.

"Um," Kirby started, casting a hasty glance at Adam, who had a polite smile on his face. "Pat, this is my, um. My friend, and neighbour, Adam Boqvist."

Kaner returned Adam's polite smile with one of his own, giving him a weird bro-nod. "Hey, Adam. Patrick Kane."

"It's nice to meet you," Adam said, but his voice sounded all wrong, too polite and forced to Kirby's ears after all the loose and easy conversation they'd just had. "I should probably get in, though, it's been a long day."

"Yeah, um," Kirby said, turning to Adam just as Adam took a step towards his door, reaching out at the last second to grab a hold of his sleeve. "Hey, c'mere."

The hug he pulled him into was a little bone-crushing, if Adam's soft _oof_ was anything to go by, but his arms lifted to loop around Kirby's middle and hug him back. Kaner was standing right there, mostly likely looking awkward and thinking weird things about them, but Kirby didn't care. And he needed Adam to know that he didn't care, that he wasn't trying to hide him from Kaner, or from anybody else.

When they finally broke apart, Adam looked relaxed, more like the version of himself from five minutes ago, post-Kaner experience. He was smiling again, none of that forced, over-polite shit that Kirby didn't like the look of. It was genuine and warm, and he was really fighting the urge to lean forward and kiss the pink at his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his chin, his mouth.

"I'll text you later," Kirby said. "So we can reschedule, yeah?"

Kirby didn't have his number. Adam knew that, and still he grinned and nodded.

"Night, Kirby," Adam said, hand on his doorknob, looking back at him and Kaner. "Have a nice night, Patrick."

"Call me Kaner," Patrick supplied helpfully with a grin, and he might as well have put two thumbs up, for his enthusiasm. "It was nice meeting you, Adam."

Then Adam disappeared into his apartment, still wearing Kirby's jacket, and Kirby was letting Kaner in, the door closing behind him without Adam accompanying him, once again.

"Dude," Kaner started, setting the IPA that Kirby definitely wasn't allowed to drink on the counter. "Taze needed some alone time, and I just wanted to chill. Sorry for the cockblock."

Kirby couldn't help his smile, then, at the easygoing acceptance that he was getting, here. No inane questioning, no sceptical side-eyeing. Just a dude who caught his other dude-friend on a date, with a dude. Normal shit.

"Nah," Kirby said, taking a seat on his couch. "There's always tomorrow, bud."

And if Kirby later found a piece of paper slipped under his door as he let Kaner out that night, folded up into four squares with a phone number scrawled across it in black ink?

Then that was between him and Adam.

5.

Kirby needed to get Adam inside.

It was a mission, at this point. There were too many failed attempts, and Kirby was leaving for the mom's trip in a day, and fuck it, he _wanted_ , okay? He wanted Adam to press him into his couch cushions and kiss him blind, wanted to put his head in his lap and let him play with his hair, wanted to hear him laugh obnoxiously at _New Girl._

And tonight was the night.

Kirby had texted in the team groupchat that he was on a date (barring any specific details), and he got a _sorry again bud :P_ from Kaner and a _same lol_ from Dylan, and other supportive chirping from the rest of the team. Alex was out, _somewhere_ , Adam had said, shrugging his shoulders as to where, exactly, just that he was out of the house. There were no interruptions this time, nothing to get in the way of Adam and Kirby, and they both knew it.

Dinner was tense in all the right ways, feeling different from the other few times they've been out together. Holding hands and exchanging idle touches while side-stepping around what they both wanted. Tonight, they had dinner at a sushi bar across town, tucked into a quiet corner, splitting sashimi and dynamite rolls and edamame beans until they were almost queasy. Adam didn't protest when Kirby covered the bill, only smiled as he lead him outside and offered him his hand in the Uber. Kirby took it, pulling Adam's hand into his lap and swiping his thumb across the back. The ride home was quiet, as was the ride up the elevator, as was the walk down their hallway.

Adam stopped at Kirby's door, leaning his back against the wall and using his grip on his hand to pull Kirby in, letting him step into his space. Here, Kirby was a bit taller, maybe, but Adam made him feel incredibly small in the best ways.

The hand on his jaw made Kirby's breath come faster, his hand squeezing Adam's and letting go to fist in his jacket, giving a needy little tug. He couldn't stand the look Adam was giving him, eyes half-lidded like his lashes were heavy, blue irises bright and hot and full of _something_.

"Gonna kiss me, or what?" Kirby grumbled, finally, and Adam's bright flash of teeth was all he saw before he was getting tugged in real close, noses brushing before Adam tilted his jaw and met Kirby's mouth with his own.

It was. Hm. It was really good, actually, for a first kiss. Adam's mouth was soft and he tasted like spearmint, and when his tongue flicked against Kirby's bottom lip, he opened up easy for him, humming low as Adam held Kirby in closer.

"You're so sweet," Adam said, mumbling the words against Kirby's mouth like he couldn't part from him long enough to speak clearly. "So sweet for me, Kirb."

And he went back in, right in the middle of their hallway, a hand heavy on the back of Kirby's neck while the other curled around his waist, thumb smoothing over the bony part there. Kirby had both hands flat on Adam's sturdy chest, getting kissed within an inch of his life, seeing stars with blue eyes behind shut lids.

It was perfect, better than good, phenomenal. But Kirby wanted more than this, more than the layers of clothes separating them. Wanted to re-draw Adam's tattoos with his tongue, wanted to know what the space between his collarbones tasted like.

"You should—You should come in," Kirby mumbled, mouth feeling swollen as Adam trailed his lips over his cheek, down his jaw, back to his mouth, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. "I want you to—fuck, Adam, come _on_."

And Adam just laughed, pecking against the corner of Kirby's mouth and tucking himself in close before finding his mouth again, warm and sweet and like he never wanted to let go. But he had to, so that Kirby could open his door and pull him inside and push him onto his couch.

So focussed on the slide of their lips and feeling of Adam's tongue behind his teeth, Kirby didn't hear the click of his front door opening, didn't understand why Adam's warm body went shock-still against his. He whined, nosing along the high planes of Adam's cheekbone, nearly turning his head to find him again, when he heard it:

" _Kirby?_ "

And yeah, that was his mom. His mother, the woman who birthed him. Standing in the entrance of his condo and staring at him and Adam with wide eyes and a hand halfway to her mouth.

"Mom," Kirby breathed, and his voice sounded breathless. "What are you—What are you doing here?"

Him and Adam were still pressed together, and Kirby hastily took a step back, stumbling against the carpet and being righted by Adam's hand, trembling where it grabbed at his sweater.

"I—" Kirby had never seen his mother so shell-shocked, caught in a bewildered stare-down with her oldest son. "I just wanted to surprise you, come over a little earlier, I'm sorry, I—"

"No, god, mom, don't apologize," Kirby said finally, feeling like he was fighting for every breath he was taking. Adam let his hand drop. "I'm, um." _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_ —

"I'll give you a minute," his mother said, her voice shaky as she gave Adam a polite smile, softening only slightly when he returned it. The door closed behind her, and Kirby immediately sagged into Adam.

"I'm sorry," Kirby whispered, forehead dropped against Adam's shoulder, the relief hitting him like a train when strong arms wrapped around him and pulled him in close. "I didn't know she—"

"Quiet," Adam shushed, his voice stern and warm in his ear, hands pressing into his spine. "It's my fault; I shouldn't have jumped on you like this in our hallway, really."

And Kirby felt himself snort at that, his heart still pounding in his chest for what waited for him behind his condo door. It was embarrassing enough for his mom to catch him necking in a public hallway; but for her to catch him with a dude, when she would probably have expected a woman in Adam's place—that sounded like something that Kirby _really_ didn't want to deal with right now.

"It's not like I didn't ask for it," Kirby said, turning his head and saying the words against Adam's jaw. "And it's not like I didn't like it, either."

"Are you gonna be okay?" Adam asked, nudging Kirby up so he could peek up and meet his eyes. "Do you want me to leave my door unlocked in case you need to run away?"

He said it lightly, like it was a joke, but Kirby could hear some truth in his words, could feel it in the hands pressing firmly into his sides like Adam had half a mind to kidnap him anyways.

Kirby shook his head, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Adam's cheek before forcing himself to take a step back. If he didn't he would be stuck there forever, and there were pressing matters that had to be dealt with. Realizations and consequential decisions.

He tucked a hand into his pocket, feeling around for his rings of keys and pulling it out. He could feel Adam's eyes on him, curious as Kirby picked out the key to his condo and slid it off the ring.

"While I'm gone," is what Kirby said as he held up the key, rocking on his heels as he waited for Adam to reach out and grab it. "In case my washing machine explodes, or something."

And Adam huffed out a laugh, taking the key and staring at it for a moment before closing his fingers around it.

"I don't know how to fix washing machines," he admitted quietly, a shy smile curling his mouth, and Kirby wanted to kiss it off of him. So he did, for just a minute. "But I think, for you, I can learn."

So there. Adam had a key to Kirby's condo, a scheduled date of return, and a silent invitation. If it was meant to happen, it will.

Kirby let Adam go with a lingering kiss, trying to memorize the taste of him and the velvet of his tongue before watching him disappear behind his door, Kirby's key in his pocket.

And now, Kirby had to turn and walk into his condo and tell his mom that he liked boys.

"Is that your boyfriend?" Is what she asked first, the second Kirby toed off his shoes and joined her on his couch, lifting his legs up and hugging his knees to his chest.

Kirby shrugged. He didn't know.

"So, you kiss all your neighbours on the mouth in your hallway?"

Kirby shook his head. "Just him."

And then it was quiet again, quiet until he heard the slide of his mom's pyjama pants against the fabric of his couch, quiet until he registered the little hiccuping cries that he was trying to hold back. His mom pulled him in until his head was in her lap, her hands scratching at his scalp like they did when he was younger and less confused about life.

"It's okay if he is," she said finally, her voice quiet but sure, Kirby's tears getting her cotton pants damp. "It's okay if you want him to be."

And yeah, Kirby knew. It was okay.

More than okay, even.

\+ 1

Kirby loved his mom, loved his team, loved winning games. But there was nobody that was happier to be home right now than Kirby.

He was tired, and a bit sad after leaving his mom at her gate for her flight home, and he had a weird bruise blooming across his thigh from getting hip-checked into the boards by Kadri. The trainers had beat all the tension out of him after every game, and yet his hands still fumbled with his key—his spare key—once he made it to his condo door.

The TV was on when he walked in, overhead lights off in favour of the tall, orange-light lamp in the living room, TSN4 turned on and down low. Kirby kicked off his shoes and dropped his bags on the ground beside the door, shrugging out of his jacket and padding into the living room, where he found Adam sprawled across his couch, fast asleep.

It was a sight, for sure. Adam looked like he belonged there, fitting so snugly into Kirby's home that it was like he'd been there forever, like he frequented this couch with Kirby on a regular basis.

This should have happened sooner, Kirby thought as he took a seat on the couch by Adam's hip, hoping he didn't jostle him too much. But they were two people with imperceptible schedules, and bad cosmic energy. And while the spontaneous lunch dates and coffee dates on Adam's university campus and by the ice house were good, nothing could compare to this sight.

"Adam," Kirby said quietly, lifting a light hand and threading his fingers into the soft hair on the side of Adam's head, brushing it back from his face. Kirby watched in fascination and awe as the long lashes on Adam's face fluttered. "Hey. I'm home."

_Clearly_. Adam's sleepy eyes opened, a soft smile on his face as he twisted and stretched, one of his hands flapping up and fisting in the neck of Kirby's sweater, tugging at it until he went along, bending at the waist until he was plopped down half on top of Adam, faces an inch apart.

"Hi," Adam said quietly, looking still half-asleep but impossibly bright-eyed. "I don't know if it's been long enough to say that I missed you, but I did."

Kirby hummed, bumping his nose against Adam's before pulling back slightly, hand crawling up to slide into his hair again, tucking strands behind his ear with fumbling fingers. "I missed you, too."

And he wasn't lying. Three days wasn't the longest road-trip Kirby's been on for hockey, not by a mile, but even through all the inane texting and the few phone calls, it was different to be here, to be able to touch Adam and--

Adam kissed slow and sweet, hands slipping under the hem of Kirby's sweater and running up his sides, noses brushing and eyelashes fluttering against the apples of their cheeks. Kirby could have stayed there forever, despite the uncomfortable position of his body, could have let Adam kiss him and suck on his tongue and stroke up and down the line of his spine until the end of his days.

"I need to shower," Kirby murmured eventually, pulling back to mouth at Adam's jaw, nosing against the squish of his cheek. "I smell like an airplane. C'mon, we can watch a movie in my room, if you want."

Adam sighed, two hands pushing at Kirby's chest until he made enough room for Adam to stand, holding out his hand for Kirby to take.

"Stop asking me if 'I want', Kirby," Adam chastised lightly, flicking off the TV before letting Kirby lead him down the hall to his bedroom and ensuite bathroom. "If it's you, there's no doubt that I'll want."

And Kirby couldn't let that go unnoticed, couldn't help but press Adam into his closed bedroom door, not even kissing at first, just a closeness that felt overwhelming and good. Adam's smile was sinful, his arms coming up to wrap around Kirby's neck and pull him in, the hug borderline too-tight and not tight enough.

"Shower," Adam said, pushing Kirby away again, pausing and pulling him in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting him go again. "I'll pick the movie."

And Kirby stood back and watched Adam, already dressed in his sleep clothes—a pair of grey joggers and a tight-fitting t-shirt—grab the SmartTV remote off the nightstand and pull back the comforter and sheets of Kirby's king-size, slipping under the covers and settling his back against the headboard.

"Make yourself comfortable," Kirby said dryly, unable to fight off his smile as Adam grinned right back at him, happy and already comfortable and what could honestly be better than this? "Give me, like. Ten minutes?"

Adam waved him off, turning on the flatscreen and navigating his way to the Netflix homepage, humming quietly under his breath as Kirby grabbed his own clothes to change into before disappearing into the bathroom.

What followed was the quickest shower Kirby had ever taken, using too much body wash and nearly slipping and falling to his death trying to step out of the walk-in, towelling himself off in what had to be record time. He tried his hardest to keep from looking in the mirror, scared of psyching himself out and finding things that looked wrong but weren't really wrong.

It wasn't quite just ten minutes when Kirby finally emerged, dressed in his basketballs shorts and a Blades t-shirt, seeing Adam still in place against the headboard, the warm light from the lamp accentuating the shadows across his face. He was focussed on the TV, watching the weather network on mute. Kirby almost laughed.

"That was longer than ten minutes," Adam murmured, startling Kirby into moving out of his place by the bathroom, padding closer to the bed. "Not that I was counting, or anything."

Kirby hummed, eyes trained on the tattoos that were fully accessible to his eyes now, trailing higher than he'd originally thought. They were intricate and detailed, covering the pale expanse of skin stretched across his bicep, more defined than Kirby had originally noticed. He wondered what Adam would do if he slipped under the covers and settled on his thighs, put his mouth to the ink on his skin and kissed new marks there.

So he did. Adam didn't hesitate as Kirby neared his side of the bed, pulling back the covers and giving him easy access, hands immediately flying to his hips once Kirby plopped down in his lap, dropping his hands to Adam's shoulders, solid and warm as the rest of his body below him. Kirby didn't know what he wanted to put his mouth on first.

"Hi, there," Adam said politely, smiling up at Kirby with an angelic little tilt of his mouth, the want burning in his eyes giving up the play inside his head. "Do you come around here often?"

Kirby snorted, shaking his head as he tilted down, taking Adam's mouth where he offered it to him. It was clear who was in control here, despite the fact that it was Adam below Kirby, the strong hand clasped around the nape of Kirby's neck guiding him exactly where Adam wanted him to go. The kiss started slow and wanting, a show-and-tell of what Kirby had been dying to do since he'd first left, and then they found the pace changing and giving way to a desperate edge, Kirby's knees tightening around Adam's ribs as his hands slipped lower, hips rolling and brushing.

"On your back," Adam murmured, not giving Kirby the chance to even think about what he just said before he was tightening his grip on his ass and tipping them sideways, his body situated between Kirby's legs, hovering over him with a hand planted on the pillow beside his head. "Pretty boy."

Kirby turned his head to the side and licked a short stripe along the soft skin on the inside of Adam's wrist, pressing a kiss to the inky parts there.

The huffed curse that came out of Adam wasn't English, Kirby didn't think, but the feeling of Adam's body lowering and pressing against his own was universal, the kiss that followed searing.

Kirby's hands found Adam's hair, slipping through the blonde and gripping, holding him close and pushing his hips down against Kirby's, drawing a pleasantly hurt noise from his mouth and swallowing it down with a filthy kiss. He was fully hard in his shorts, now, unlike the half-chub he'd been sporting since stepping off the plane, and every dip and brush against him was driving him slowly up the wall.

When Adam pulled back, Kirby was already breathing heavy, fighting the conflicting urges to either preen under his attention or cover up, cower away and hide himself. But Adam was having none of his hesitation, hands curling around the hem of Kirby's t-shirt and pausing, eyes so dark they could have been black where they met Kirby's.

"Yes," Kirby said, his voice sounding wrecked and needy and Adam was helping him out of his shirt before he could even wince at the state he was in. There was a brief moment after Adam chucked Kirby's short onto the ground where he just stopped and stared, eyes hungry as they raked up and down, from his clavicles to the skin below his bellybutton. "C'mon, you next."

And Kirby only got sight of a cheeky grin as Adam shed his shirt, revealing a defined stomach and a solid chest, shoulders broad and biceps thick. Kirby couldn't help but reach out and close a hand around the tattooed part of Adam's bicep, thumb digging into the muscle there. Before he knew what he was doing, he was tugging him in close against, bumping the tips of their noses together before offering up his mouth.

Adam only gave his a soft peck before returning his attention to the soft parts of Kirby's neck, sucking and biting hard enough to be felt, but not long enough to leave a mark, making Kirby's body buzz as he moved down past his collarbones, licking the skin there before passing over a nipple. The feeling made Kirby's back arch, a small whine slipping from his throat as his hands tightened in Adam's hair, as though to keep him anchored there.

But Adam moved down further, pressing a sweet kiss in between his ribs before travelling across and sinking his teeth into a soft bite above Kirby's hip, mouthing along the skin above the waistband of his shorts.

"Kirby," Adam asked, sounding so soft and so pleading that Kirby had to lift himself onto an elbow just to see his face. "Can I?"

Kirby only had it in him to nod, hand flying to his mouth in an overwhelmed movement as Adam settled his palm over the front of his sweats, digging the heel of his hand in just lightly, watching Kirby's face for the flutter of his eyes and the furrow of his brows.

He felt Adam shift in between his legs, laying flat on the mattress and tucking two fingers on each hand into the waistband of his shorts, giving an experimental tug. Kirby's hips lifted on command, and Adam got his shorts down to his thighs, stopping once Kirby's dick slipped out and twitched across his stomach, rosy pink head drooling onto his skin.

Adam flattened his heavy hand down on Kirby's hip, pinning his bottom half to the mattress to keep Kirby from squirming as he wrapped a warm hand around him and stroked once, twice. Kirby twitched, making a soft noise low in his throat when Adam's hand pressed in harder, holding him down.

"No moving," Adam said, and he sounded stern and serious and holy _fuck_ , it was doing things to Kirby. "If you make me choke, you're getting a handy instead."

Kirby had to laugh at that, because Adam said it like it was a punishment, but all he had was a hand leisurely stroking Kirby's cock and he didn't know how it could get any better than this.

And then Adam closed his mouth around just the head, sucking on it experimentally, and Kirby couldn't ever imagine feeling anything else, ever.

His arm nearly buckled as Adam took him a bit deeper, slow like he was new to this (which, he really could have been, it's not like Kirby knew the difference), head dipping and bobbing with a hand holding Kirby steady. It was so much and so good, and Kirby's free hand (trembling, as it was) reached out and pushed away the hair that had fallen in Adam's face so he could watch the way his cock disappeared, lips plump as they stretched around his dick. He looked so good, so content, and Kirby suddenly, viciously, wanted to be in his place, settled between Adam's knees and testing his limits.

Later, he promised himself, head tipping back and a shaky breath leaving his throat as Adam took him impossibly deeper, choking a little before stilling, adjusting to the feeling of Kirby in his throat before setting up an easy rhythm, pulling up and twisting his wrist and seeing what made Kirby squirm and wriggle against the mattress best.

"Adam," Kirby said, the sound broken and meek while Adam stroked him off with a strong hand, lips still pursed around the tip of his dick, and fuck, there was no way he could last any longer, especially not when Adam flicked his eyes up and met Kirby's, pupils swallowing all the colour. "Fuck, Adam, I'm—"

Adam popped off with a slick noise, his lips ruby red and swollen as he smiled up at Kirby, looking like one of the angels painted on the stain glass windows in his rickety chapel back home, and shit, Kirby needed to stop thinking about _church_.

"C'mon, Kirb," Adam hummed, and the words came out like a purr despite the scratchy, raw edge to his tone, throat worked and used. "C'mon."

And then he went back down, mouth half-full as he worked his fist and sucked him down at the same time, Kirby's hand tightening in Adam's hair, a little whimper slipping past his lips as a ball of heat formed at the base of his spine, slipping around his guts and igniting in his belly. There was a small warning, and a sweet hum from Adam, and Kirby's arm gave out and his back hit the mattress as he spilled down Adam's throat.

"That didn't take very long," Kirby slurred, feeling a little drunk and hazy as Adam pulled off and tucked him back into his shorts, pressing soft kisses up Kirby's tummy, peppering along his ribs, up his neck before catching his mouth, kissing him lazy and slow and with his tongue, letting Kirby have a taste of himself. "Hey, gimme."

Kirby wasn't naive enough to think himself capable of delivering a performance as monumental as Adam's, as come-drunk and sleepy as he was, but he had two hands and a working larynx, and he was determined to put them both to good use.

Adam wriggled his way up Kirby's body until he was propped above him, eyes on Kirby's face as Kirby curiously passed a palm over the front of Adam's sweatpants, fingers pressing in before crawling up to his waistband, tugging it down with Adam's help, pulling his dick out and staring.

It was a pretty dick; thicker than Kirby's, pink at the tip and wet. His mouth watered, eyes fixed on it before Adam broke the gaze, holding his palm out in front of Kirby's face.

"Lick," is all he said, voice thick with want. Kirby closed his hand around Adam's wrist, his own eyes fluttering shut as he licked a broad stripe from the heel of his hand to the tips of his fingers, sucking Adam's middle finger down to the knuckle. "Fuck."

Kirby mourned the loss as Adam pulled his hand away to wrap it around his cock, jerking himself off above Kirby's, hand speeding up as Kirby reached out and pressed the tip of his pointer finger into the slit, watching the string of wetness that followed as he pulled it away.

"Next time," Kirby said quietly, hand running up Adam's forearm, up his bicep, curling around his shoulder, flexed and taught with muscle. "Next time, you can fuck me. Let me ride you, if that's how you like it. Or you can put me on my knees, or on my back—"

Adam's entire body went still, a hurt noise punching from his chest as he tensed and spilled across Kirby's tummy, leaning forward to press his forehead against Kirby's, heavy breaths mingling.

Kirby's eyes slipped shut as Adam pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek before pulling away, rummaging around off the side of the bed. He kept his eyes closed as Adam wiped down his stomach, tossing what he hoped wasn't his own shirt in the direction of his laundry basket.

"Did you fall asleep on me already?" Adam mused quietly, and Kirby cracked one eye open to watch Adam flick off the lamp and settle against his pillows, shirtless and bare and comfortable.

"Mm," is all Kirby managed, rolling over until Adam draped an arm around him, drawing him in close and tucking him in sweetly against his chest, dropping a kiss to Kirby's hair. It was sweet, full of affection and heart, and Kirby felt warm and sated, protected in this embrace. "Adam?"

Adam hummed, urging Kirby on while tangling his fingers into his hair, scratching his fingers against his scalp and bringing him closer to sleep.

"I like you, I think," Kirby said quietly, mumbling the confession into the warm skin of Adam's neck. His fingers stuttered, but didn't stop, his arm tightening around Kirby's body. "A lot."

"Kirby," Adam whispered back, and he could hear the smile in his voice. "I like you a lot, too."

And that's how they fell asleep, sweaty bodies pressed together, Kirby breathing warmth into Adam's neck while Adam alternated between kisses at his hair and soft murmurs in a language that Kirby was sure wasn't English.

When the morning comes, it would be Kirby who woke up first, sprawled halfway across the bed, only touching Adam by the hook of their ankles together. They'd forgotten to close the curtains before falling asleep, so the sunshine wasn't scared to pour in, bathing Adam and his long lashes and pink mouth in a bright light. His hair was a mess and his face peaceful, arm stretched out as if searching for Kirby in his unconscious. Kirby, half-asleep himself, couldn't help but drag himself closer, pressing a short, soft kiss to Adam's sleeping lips before settling back down to his side, a quiet sigh passing from his mouth as Adam gathered him in close again, a sleepy-soft whisper of Kirby's name spoken into the unbroken air.

They were in his bed, in his condo, for the very first time. And Kirby, behind closed eyelids and a full heart, could see all the times yet to come, as though they had already happened.

**Author's Note:**

> the game played in 3. is modelled after the hawks @ devils game where kirby scored his first ever shootout attempt. alex isn't on the hawks in this verse so i had to switch up the goalscorers. it's also supposed to be the mom's trip but i switched it around so that the trip was a week later in colorado. 
> 
> concerning the forced coming out part (spoilers!!) kirby's mom catches adam and kirby making out in a hallway. she reacts well & it's all very fine, if a tad emotional. 
> 
> i think that's all, folks. hope u enjoyed <3


End file.
